Still no word from the hospital - which I am interpreting as very good news!

But I will have my positive thoughts confirmed when I meet with Dr. McCready on December 10.

More importantly, here are the pictures of Jakob receiving his student of the month award!

Yesterday started out brilliantly.

Paul and I went to the school to watch Jakob accept his award for Student of the Month (pictures will be posted later today) and he was adorable, waving to us from the front of the auditorium.

Afterwards Paul left for work with the promise to meet me at the hospital and I went home to putter, make coffee and build up anxiety before the mammogram.

The imaging department was running behind so I waited nearly an hour in my blue gown and then was finally ushered into the room where the technician scanned both breasts! She felt it was important to get a scan of my chest wall, which makes tremendous sense when I think that is where the cancer came within a hair width of spreading. But this squishing caused me even greater stress - I had visions of my 15-hour reconstructed chest mound being popped, or squeezed permanently into some weird shape complete with an orange peel texture - even visions of it deflating and shifting south, competing with my new naval, danced through my head.

But I won't know the results until today - a specialist was to look at the scan yesterday afternoon and then they would call me back if necessary. Knock on wood, I haven't heard from them yet so I'm really hoping everything is clean.

To end my day, Satchel pulled out his last baby tooth (a molar deep in the back) and this was probably a bit premature considering all the blood over the bathroom and the tissues in the waste basket - not to mention the pain it caused him.

I felt a bit sad about it too which was crazy - another vestige of youth left behind.

I have my first mammogram tomorrow since my diagnosis of breast cancer last year.

Anxious doesn't begin to describe how I feel.

Wish me luck!

Jakob is student of the month and his report card had a lot of A's!

I am so proud.

So proud that I took both Satchel (who also had a pretty decent report card) and Jakob to Sufferin Mall and bought them each a present. Cursed Pokemon cards for Jakob and mind sucking Gamecube game for Satchel.

That's how much I love them.

Satchel and I braved the Eaton's Centre with 1 TRILLION OTHER PEOPLE on Saturday to find him new boots and a few other things.

This is the second pair of boots that I bought Satchel this season - the first pair was bought while shopping in the States 2 months ago with my niece but his feet have grown 2 sizes in a period of less than two months.

And interestingly the first pair of boots (size 6) cause him to sob when he wears them (twice), yet wheeling around in his size 5 Heelys seems to be okay...

Anyway, forgive the digression.

While walking around the Eaton Centre, Satchel was chipper and enthusiastic. Even saying "You know why I'm such a good runner Mommy? It's the stamina built up from going on long walks with you!" And we would hug and smile and walk on to the next store.

2 hours later, Satchel is now grabbing his chest and his arms, crying that we need to leave the mall NOW!!!!! because he is having a heart attack.

Fine fine fine. We'll leave. Can we stop by this store first? No? The pain is too much to shop? Fine.

Then we're standing on the subway platform with Satchel leaning into me, openly weeping, me trying really hard to not roll my eyes while the 1 MILLION people waiting for the subway cast bewildered looks at me.

"But don't worry Mommy, I may be having a heart attack but I can still play PAINTBALL tomorrow!"

SOLD! $350.



I am so glad this week is over.

Last Sunday I took the boys to the Santa Clause parade.

It started out fine - we were fairly close to the street, elves were throwing candy, we caught candy and then...

...the most devastating thing that could possibly happen, happened.

Satchel was given a cookie, Jakob was not.

Jakob spent the rest of the parade screaming "this parade sucks. all the floats? they SUCK! the people watching the parade...THEY SUCK!"

Then he dared to say what should never be spoken by children..."SANTA SUCKS!"

It was pretty bad. It was all I could do not to pick him up and toss him into one of the passing floats and say good riddance.

But then, probably at the 3/4 mark, an elf threw a lone miniature candy cane and Jakob caught it. Suddenly, everything was okay. Satchel wasn't the favoured one, Jakob too was lucky. He had a candy cane, didn't even matter that he doesn't really like them, and Satchel didn't.

Suddenly he LOVED the parade and he really LOVED Santa. As he explained to me, he had just been in a bit of a bad mood.



Jakob trying to look cute after getting the candy cane.

Today is the one year anniversary of my mastectomy.

Crazy how time flies.

The painting is finished!

I can finally breath easy - well as easy as one can breath in a toxic fume-filled kitchen. Now to create the 6x6 card and send it to the printer.

I have roughly three days to finish my painting for work. Am I stressed? Of course! But have I dipped into the wine? Nope. Totally sober. But only because I'm OUT of wine.

The positive is I finally found my oil paint so am essentially redoing it. The downside is I have three days to finish the painting. And I have a headache. Also, a partially blue cat.

Today was a fabulous day because Lucy was here and I came home to a clean house. I opened the door and breathed in the wonderfully chemical-fresh scent of cleaning products. Also found the laundry started - though frankly I would NOT have put my work pants in the dryer and am a little afraid to now try them on.

I almost didn't know what to do with myself with my house so clean. So after taking Hamish to the vets (he may have a cyst, we're keeping an eye on it - fabulous), paying all my bills, putting the (left) wash into the dryer...I started calling mirror companies to quote for our powder room after getting what I thought was an insane quote from Adanac ($360 for a wall mounted plain mirror - crazy).

First company told me to call back tomorrow, second company quoted $100 higher for the mirror telling me in quite the condescending tone that it's awfully complicated to cut a piece of glass. Idiots.

But I have heard through the grape vine that my ex-contractor knows someone who's very reasonable and that my neighbour has hired them to do a backsplash (not that the contractor would tell me of course, but my neighbour will!) which I think is a delicious irony if I can take advantage of the information.

I am about to contact my contractor and ask him if he can order me one of his $35 doors to replace my bedroom one with so that it will match all the others he installed. I laugh because he charged me $400 each for them initially but when had to credit back two said they only cost $35.

I wonder what he will say - as I poke new dimples into my cheeks.

I have visited the dark friend who's name is BOTOX...and I have to admit, kind of like it!

Though now that my "angry" line is disappearing, I will have to either hold up signs saying "I'M ROYALLY PISSED" to my little family or continue yelling at them until they catch on.

Having lost the ability to scowl and feeling as though I have a small plastic shield in my forehead, I will tell you the story of how this came to pass.

I was in medical terms, a "guinea pig" or as they say in Latin, an "ineaguay igpay".

A friend of mine is leaving the life of an ER doctor and starting a family practice downtown. Like a number of family doctors in Toronto, he would like to "compliment" his general practice with cosmetic procedures - which really means he wants to make a lot more money by injecting happy people with needles and less of the annoying and poorly-paying pap tests and ball squishing (whatever they do to guys behind closed doors).

So he took the course and then needed victims to practice on...which is where Pat and I came in. So in a small room in Burlington last Saturday, surrounded by 7 doctors and 1 expert I was poked by many needles - mainly addressing the "anger" line which I truly haven't been enjoying of late.

And I have to tell you - it's nearly gone! And if I can actually get a picture of my face where I'm not blinking or looking like I'm about to fall over drunk because I can't keep my eyes open when the flash pops, I'll show you.

Paul asked why I would bother do it so I explained that it's part of my giving nature, helping out a friend...and most importantly, it was FREE!

Why do I do this to myself?

Why do I say at work "I have a great idea, how about I do an original painting to be turned into the office Christmas card, to be sent out to ALOT of incredibly important clients!" And do I stop there? OF COURSE NOT! For then I add "I will donate the painting to our United Way Auction to help raise money!"

Sure...this sounds like an absolutely fabulous and altruistic idea, but I always seem to block one critical component from my mind.

That I actually have to DO the painting.

And now I am stressed, with little time, looking at what I've painting so far with terrible acrylic paint and my kids' brushes, because I can't find my oils and good brushes, and can only think:

CRAP! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!!!

Arthur gettin' some love with his favourite little cat-nipped filled mouse. He loves this mouse, carries it around the house in his mouth, meowing the entire time. Becomes very unpopular at 4:30 in the morning.

Likes to hide it in his bed where he stares at it with the same intensity as a stalker.

Gets very upset when he finds Hamish in the bed with the mouse - his bitterness is palpable.

Halloween was fabulous and truly my favourite night of the year.

I love everything about it: the costumes, the children, the decorations - it is with remorse that I begin to deconstruct my house, ridding it of all things pagan and gothic.

My boys were both Death, a.k.a Grim Reaper.

Though cheaply-had ones, all souls were spared for a piece of candy.

I was a witch. Also could be described as a portrait of a slow disintegration into wine excess and candy - complete with incredibly long eye lashes.






This morning we found that the evil teenagers (or, as Jakob screamed out on to the empty street, scythe in hand, freakin' buttheads) had smashed all of our pumpkins on to the street.

I didn't mind, one thing less to deal with - the emotional attachment to the rotting orange carcases, and then the devastation felt by Jakob while I try to stuff them into the green bin.

I should never have even typed the words - the sleepover has been canceled and Jakob is now running a mild fever and has an ear ache.

Cursed.

Jakob has a sleep over tonight - his very first!

And Satchel might have one too!

I'm too afraid to say it out loud - that we might be childless for one precious night - for fear that if the words do slip from my mouth, Jakob will come down with a terrible flu virus or Satchel will slip down the stairs, fracturing his ankle - or that the other parents will come to their senses and call saying they're sorry, but their baby has come down with a horrible rash and they think it's contagious and they just could not in conscience let Jakob come over...

Instead, I can only walk around the house holding my hands to my mouth, hiding the GIGANTIC smile on my face!

This is the beginning - my favourite time of the year!

Back from the hospital sporting my new tattoo.

I'm tired, cranky and I hurt. And it didn't help that the student doctor who observed the whole procedure by Dr. Lipa and the doctor who assisted looked not much older than Satchel.

This is the miracle bra that was worth the psychological damage caused by standing in the harsh fluorescent glow of the change room at the Bay:

warner's sleek underneath which I purchased on sale for $27 and would definitely recommend for comfort since it's seamless and wireless and provides great support, especially if you've had surgery - like a mastectomy.

And yes, that's me in the picture.

Oh look, there I am again in a different colour.

Jakob: "Did you know your arm hair freezes at night and then melts when you wake up?"

Me: "I had no idea - but this does kind of explain Daddy's pillow."

If you listen closely you will hear the sounds of my seething frustration: SATCHEL HAS LOST HIS BRAND NEW JACKET ALREADY! He drives me insane with everything that goes missing - and now he's trying to blame Paul for it, that Daddy should have looked in the schoolyard.

He is SO close to not reaching puberty.

There is nothing worse than trying on bras at The Bay in their unforgiving change rooms with harsh fluorescent light beating down you - showing off every scar, every new dimple and deformity caused by a mastectomy.

I am in love and her name is Lucy for Lucy cleaned my house today and it looks absolutely fantastic!

But it was also a day of mixed emotions for I had my annual physical and according to the "nurse", I have gained 8 POUNDS since my waifish post-surgery 127. I knew my Kenneth Cole skinny pants were getting a little too tight - I just didn't want to acknowledge it enough to actually do anything about it.

Laughter too prevailed today as I took Satchel to his first-ever skating lesson and he was fabulous - falling a few times but mostly looking like he was running a marathon with broken ankles rather than actually gliding on ice.

Even Jakob looked up from his pile of candies to ask "why is Satchel running?"

I'm sick with a terrible head cold, I'm up to my eyeballs folding laundry, and I'm miserable.

My weekend was a bust - I had to cancel attending an AIDs benefit on Friday night, dinner at friends on Saturday, and apple/pumpkin picking with with the kids on Sunday - which, rumour had it, was an absolutely fabulous day. But I would not be able to confirm this because I instead spent my time in bed, popping pills and drinking tea.

I should never have mocked Cheezits.

My conversation at work -

Me: I'm in my happy place with Cheezits!

S: What? You're in your happy place with Jesus? I don't even know how to respond to that.

Me: Yes, exactly, with Jesus.

This morning, while getting ready for work, I heard the sound of coins jingling meaning the Toothfairy had arrived!

But what I didn't hear was the pitter patter of little feet running to the bathroom to rejoice that fact with us - so out of curiosity I went to Jakob's bedroom to find out what was going on. He was buried in his bed so I poked the pile of blankets and finally he responded with "I got nothing! Nothing! The toothfairy didn't come!"

Weird since I had left $2.50 the night before.

So I did what any time-pressed mother would do - I went back to the bathroom to continue readying for work.

Moments later, Jakob stormed into the bathroom, threw the money on the vanity and yelled "All I got was this! This is CRAP! I don't even want it!"

I said to Paul "He got that from you." and finished putting on make-up.

Jakob lost another tooth this morning.

At this point he would happily remove all his teeth because of the monetary rewards brought by the Toothfairy. Of course he also thinks it's time she upped the ante and started bringing bills - and not just $5 bills either - this pile of change thing just isn't doing it for him.

There will be a calm in my life (and my marriage), beginning in exactly ONE week - the day my BRAND NEW HOUSE CLEANER starts!

I do hope I will love her.

But the stress countdown also begins: how do I organize my house in 7 days so that she actually CAN clean? Other than hiring Amanda (http://positivelyorganized.blogspot.com/) which I would really, desperately, love to do.

I'll start small, one room at a time. One cocktail at a time.

Other than my messy-house-soon-to-be-clean-house news, I have my next round of tattooing scheduled for the 24th (still NOT leaning towards the eyeball), my next mammogram scheduled for early next month, my next appointment with my oncologist scheduled post mammogram and my annual physical with GP next week (where I KNOW she's going to bring up my weight gain).

Rivaling my Mom in number of doctor's appointments is making it incredibly difficult for me to take that much needed trip to Edmonton.

God, I need to go roll around the house and wish for a pair of left over maternity pants. I ate way too much turkey this weekend.

The World's Shortest Fairytale

Once upon a time, a girl asked a guy, "Will you marry me?"

The guy said "No" and the girl lived happily ever after and went shopping, drank martinis with friends, always had a clean house, never had to cook, had a closet full of shoes and handbags, stayed skinny, and was never farted on.

The End

Satchel and I participated in the CIBC Run/Walk for the Cure yesterday along with 31,700+ other people and it was...FABULOUS!

Satch had this posted on his back which still feels so surreal to me, that I'm part of this crazy club I still can't believe I signed up for - especially made evident when we were pocketed with the other survivors for the walk, all in our matching pink t-shirts.

Look how pretty!




And I'm still alive (and sober) after 5 separate deliveries of cushions.

The Case of the Two Barcelona Chairs or What Will Ultimately Be Responsible For My Premature Death.

On September 7, Paul and I celebrated our anniversary by taking the day off and going to GH JOHNSON'S to buy two white Barcelona chairs for our kitchen.

Happily they took our money and promised a Thursday delivery. Unfortunately on Tuesday they cancelled the Thursday delivery and promised Monday sometime after 1:30 to accommodate my work schedule. Fortunately I had the foresight to leave a note on the front door to see my neighbour if they showed early - and they did, came in the morning and left the 2 chairs. Of the two frames, one was damaged and both sets of cushions were either damaged or didn't fit the frame properly.

After 3 days of calling and leaving messages and never having my calls returned, I finally talked to Glen who promised that by the following Thursday all would be righted. Unfortunately he forgot and my Thursday promise was pushed to the following Tuesday.

The new frames came (one fine, one damaged - but I still had one that was okay so sent both damaged frames back) and new cushions. One set of cushions was perfect, and then after the delivery guys left, I found that I had been left with 2 base cushions instead of a base and a top - so the base cushion wouldn't fit the frame. Paul walked the cushion over to GH Johnson's to exchange it for a proper cushion and came home to find out that we had been given a completely different design which also didn't fit the frame properly.

So he called and FREAKED OUT, SWEARING A BLUE STREAK until they promised to personally deliver a new cushion today, adhering to my schedule. And a lovely man did, but also wanted to take the original base cushion THAT FIT PERFECTLY and replace it with a new one so that I had a brand new set and then he left.

Paul came home and looked at the chair saying the base cushion is not the same size as on the other chair - and it's not. Because David left us with two top cushions, so as a base cushion, it's too short. Of course I didn't notice and now after calling David on his cell phone, having Paul yell and swear which has only increased my anxiety, and then calling GH Johnson's again to be told no one can help me tonight, to wait until tomorrow for David, and then HUNG UP ON...

...I am going to have a nervous breakdown and still do not have my two perfect Barcelona chairs that really will look quite stunning if and when we ever get it right.

I'm exhausted. I had insomnia last night and even the changing of beds didn't help.

My restlessness even forced Hamish and Arthur to desert me.

Jerks.

I finally fell asleep around 3:30 (I think) and then was woken by Jakob 2 hours later because he had wet the bed. And after finishing 2 more loads of laundry, since he soaked every sheet, blanket and the duvet on his bed, I have now just found his soaking wet pajama bottoms hidden behind the laundry basket in his room.

So I'm puttering around the house, armed with a hammer to hang pictures, and cranky. And to push me over the edge, because children have a 6th sense on just how to do that, Jakob is following me where ever I go, talking endlessly in a very loud voice about Pokemon.

This is why parents of young children DRINK. ALOT.

It's 1:21 in the afternoon and I have spent the last 2 hours folding laundry. Paul put together an IKEA bed in a shorter period of time.

If you don't hear from me again it's because one of the 6 foot piles of shirts have fallen over, burying me forever - or until the family gets hungry and searches me out.

Jakob lost a tooth this morning - his first naturally, his 3rd in total. He's still a bit in shock over it - namely, that it didn't hurt when Paul pulled it out. Jakob also flushed a fruit smoothie wrapper down the toilet but has asked me not to tell Paul because Paul would either give him away or saw him in half.

Paul walking Jakob to school today:

"...I just can't see Daddy. If I don't get glasses, I'll have to keep my eyes closed...FOREVER!"

Another weekend spent at soccer fields where Satchel's team did really well winning, I mean slaughtering, or perhaps the correct term is shutting them out on Friday and at both games on Saturday. But sadly, it was not to be on Sunday morning where they lost...because they got COCKY! and not because the other team paid out a bigger bribe to the referees as suggested by Satchel.

To make myself feel better, I took Brenda, William and Aidan to Ikea where we shopped with 5 million other people and I, once again, spent way too much money. I didn't have that moment where the woman runs out of the store shrieking to her husband to GO! GO!!! Instead I sucked in my breath when told the amount and accused the cashier of having made a mistake.

Jakob informed Paul, with a straight face and very deep voice, that he is not obsessed with Pokemon cards, but that he is a collector of Pokemon cards.

Day 3 of strike.

A dilemma - Paul made dinner therefore I am obligated to do the dishes! Or am I?

Maybe I should sit back and have a drink and think about this a little more...I don't want to rush into action unnecessarily. Yes, a civilized beverage.

And Paul is helping Jakob with his homework, which is as painful as it is to watch Jakob play soccer. It's all I can do to not break out laughing - instead I bury my head into the computer, typing away at this blog...as my body shakes uncontrollably.

I feel like I'm a bit behind in my photo postings.

Flowers from my anniversary.



Satchel - the day of his 11th birthday.

We had a fabulous thunder storm last night with quite the light show. We even lost power for a few minutes - just long enough to run around trying to find flashlights, candles and matches before it came back on.

The lights went out during Jakob's time in the bathroom, otherwise known as his personal pooping room. All was dark, all was quiet in the house until we heard "I could use a little light here people!"

Day 2: the food on the floor could feed a small family.

I think it's time I go on strike.

There seems to be in incredible imbalance in the sharing of house responsibilities and it's driving me INSANE!!! And until the people who live here start taking more initiative and responsibility, I'm stepping back.

Let's see how long it lasts - I really don't do well in chaos.

So...Day 1.

I'm going to walk away from the rice, the crushed peas, the dirty dishes, the laundry that needs to be folded, the lunches that need to be made - and instead, I'm going to go read my book.

I just want to say:

THANK GOD JAKOB'S SOCCER SEASON IS OVER!!!!!

The play offs were this weekend and his team kept WINNING. Which meant after each game we would go home and await the next game with Jakob flipping out the entire time. Finally this afternoon, his team lost and he was awarded his trophy and medal and certificate AND THE PROMISE that we would never sign him up again and would buy him ice cream IMMEDIATELY from the ice cream truck.

I can not adequately describe how painful it is to watch Jakob "play" soccer. Or the rage I feel when he loudly mocks the players of the other team while he spends his entire time on field keeping his back turned to the ball. A funny coincidence is that the other sad little player on the field is a boy named Jacob who was born in the same hospital, one day before my little Jakob broke free. The coach just kept rotating the Jakob/Jacobs keeping the rest of the players going. Even the boy with the BROKEN ARM was kept on the field, the preferred player over Jakob/Jacob.

I think his next experience will be cooking - we will build on his love of experimenting in the kitchen.

Because of this interference, not once did I make it downtown for my annual stalking ritual (this year of Brangelina who are in town RIGHT NOW) and also could not make it out to cheer on all the participants in the 60 km breast cancer walk.

I am currently drinking a glass of wine, enjoying the silence that comes with both kids being asleep and thinking creatively about payback.

September 7, 1991

16 crazy years together!

(Yes, I was a child bride; no, we are neither mennonites or mormons.)

We have both taken tomorrow off work to try to remember each other's names...and potentially stalk the celebrities that have invaded our fair city. And by celebrities, I can only mean BRANGELINA!





Photos by Jakob

I was home sick today - I had a migraine. I seldom say "oooh, I have a migraine" when really it's only a headache that a couple of advil will take care of. But yesterday, by the time I left work, when I was pressing my hand to my head trying to manage the pain and realizing I could no longer use my right eye to see - I knew, it was a migraine. And then by 5:30, when I was trapped in Zellers with Satchel crying and Jakob begging for candy, and I could feel my temperature spike, the migraine was confirmed again.

A funny thing happened at Zellers, Satchel was angry and disappointed and very sad that he couldn't find Optimus Prime (retailing for a stupid $70 plus tax at ToysRrippoff and $60 at Walmart and Zellers) and started hiding in the store and refusing to come with us - which had Jakob very upset. I told Jakob that we would go pay for the binder THAT SATCHEL NEEDS and he would very likely meet up with us at the cashier. "And if he doesn't?" says an anxious Jakob. "Well, then he's in BIG trouble." I said, really wanting to go home. "Will he have to sit in the quiet time chair?" says Jakob (known well because he has obviously spent a lot of time in said chair during kindergarten). "Oh yeah, all night long." I said. Jakob was happy with that.

After paying at the cashier and no Satchel showing, I walked to the customer service department to have him paged when lo and behold, there his is...crying (because he thought I left without him) and being escorted by TWO security guards. I think he learned his lesson as I mouthed thank you at the two men. Being the terrible mother that I am, I brought this up as I hugged my sobbing boy.

And then, after getting home, I was sick as a dog, popping gravol and advil like it was the candy Jakob was desperate for. I was asleep by 9:00, slept until 11:00am, stayed away for about an hour, back to sleep until an alarm went off at 2:30 and then forced myself to stay awake to pick up the kids for 3:30.

And tomorrow, I will choose my celebrity of choice to stalk. No headache will get in the way of that!

It's here! My weekend away is here!

Jenifer should be picking me up in 10 minutes and then we are heading off to Target - I mean her in-law's cottage in Wilson NY. To throw a bit of culture into our Target-focused weekend, we are heading to the Albright Knox where large pools of saliva will form at my feet as I admire the fantastic abstract expressionist collection they boast.

And I will drink wine, read magazines and books, watch chick flicks and not once will I step in poo (like this evening, thank you Jakob) or have anyone ask anything of me.

I will update you if and when I return!

Now this is absolutely crazy - Satchel turns 11 on Wednesday, August 29.

Tomorrow.

11!

It all seems so wrong, but he is so fabulous.

He's the kind of kid who has always had us patting our own backs saying what great parents we are. Look how well he turned out.

Little did we realize, until Jakob entered our lives, we were really just lucky.

Here are a few pictures from Satchel's year.

It was soccer night for Jakob and I can't begin to describe fully the dread I feel when Tuesday rolls around. I pretend that soccer doesn't even exist up until I pick him up from daycare and then quietly announce we have to rush home, eat dinner, get ready and SUPPORT HIS TEAM!

Then it's as all thoughts, all words, have merged into one: ihatesocceri'mtheworstplayeri'mnotgettingatrophyihatesoccer IDON'TWANTTOGO!!!!!!!

It is so incredibly painful.

More painful even then yesterday when I surprised Jakob by picking him up very early in the afternoon from daycare to take both kids to the CNE. On the streetcar Jakey proceeds to yell "Stop talking in my ear Satchel, you're giving me a headache. This is the worst day EVER! I want a new family! Now you're doing it Mommy, you're giving me a headache. Stop talking! I'm serious, I want a new family!"

I hear you Jakob, sometimes - like when I innocently sit on a toilet seat soaked in boy pee - I think the very same thing.

The day did pick up for all of us at the fair where we had a fabulous time and Jakob decided to give us another shot.

We all leave a mark on the world. The Weekend to End Breast Cancer benefiting Princess Margaret Hospital can be yours. During one amazing weekend, September 7th - 9th, 2007, thousands of women and men will unite in Toronto to walk 60 kilometres in a bold display of courage and commitment. It’s a weekend of hope, as we honour lives lost, celebrate survivors, and help bring breast cancer care to those who so desperately need it. The money raised will benefit Princess Margaret Hospital, a leader in the fight against breast cancer. One in every nine Canadian women will be diagnosed with breast cancer. The Weekend to End Breast Cancer is your chance to make a difference; it’s your chance to leave a mark in the fight against breast cancer.

If you haven't had a chance to sponsor someone, I would ask you to support my brother Dave, who will be walking for me, with a group of London pink-helmeted firefighters.

They will walk the entire 60 kilometers in their uniform - so if you have a firefighter fetish, this might be of interest to you!

Dave can be sponsored online, with income tax receipts sent within 24 hours, at www.endcancer.ca, sponsor a participant, David Glover

or try this: http://www.endcancer.ca/site/TR?px=1952914&pg=personal&fr_id=1202

Thank you!

August 24, 1952

This fabulous guy entered the world.



Bob is the quintessential renaissance man, but I do have a hard time believing he's the grandfather of 4.

And, I must add, he is much older than me.

I have a crazy number of siblings.

We have ants.

I hate ALL bugs, especially when they are in my house and not contributing to the betterment of my life in any form. The kids have now turned ant squishing in to a high art form.

Thank you my children, another reason for having you.

While at work today, going through files, I found a video taken at the office children's Christmas party in 2001. So having a few moments to myself, I played it...and there was a 5-year-old Satchel climbing on to Santa's knee, smiling and nodding his head, accepting a gift of chocolates with a huge grin. And taking over the corner (majority of the screen) was my stomach - heavily pregnant with Jakob (he was born days later).

Fabulous.

I'm just going to focus on this and ignore all the retardation in my life:



Found on a clearance table at Pottery Barn for only $22.00!

It's so shiny and new...I'm feeling much better now.

Satchel's so cute. He has a new routine, really endearing - especially since he's going to turn 11 on the 29th.

He likes to pretend he's retarded. Yeah. Retarded. In grocery stores, coffee shops, at the rec centre where he goes to camp, at home...really sweet. He even yells out this weird noise like he's retarded. How can you not love that?

It's all I can do to not hit him.

Makes me long for the days of baby kitty - and I REALLY hated that phase.

God, I'm cranky today.

Swore at Satchel (quietly, I'm POSITIVE he didn't hear me - though the look on my face would have struck fear in to the hearts of men twice his size), wanted to push Paul really hard in to the island - enough to hurt him, possibly draw blood - even though he didn't do anything other then stand in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Only Jakob was spared from my wrath - and HE peed the bed forcing me to squeeze laundry in to my already rushed getting-ready-for-work schedule.

I don't know why I'm so irritable - it's not even that time of the month where thoughts of evil swirl freely.

It was hard to get out of bed this morning and then when biking in to work I felt as though I had missed the memo that said everyone was to have the day off and stay buried in bed, with head under pillows, surrounded by two cats.

Jakob had a hair cut this weekend and after describing what I wanted and measuring how much to cut off (long enough to keep the curls), I settled in to a chair and started reading my book. Suddenly the sound of a electric razor pulled me from my passage and I found him beginning to look like the poster child for a Hitler youth organization. My jumping out of the chair with such force that I banged my head on the metal dryer overhead startled the "stylist" enough to stop him. He said "don't worry, don't worry, I'll leave back long."

Nooo, because that would give Jakob the worst mullet since Billy Ray Cyrus haunted us all with his Achy Breaky Heart.

I should have known better than to do anything but stand militantly on guard, ready to grab scissors out of his hand at a moment's notice. Instead I was sucked in by the large flat screen TV playing the pixtar movie Cars and that Jakob had enthusiastically squeezed himself into the car-shape seat.

I had also chosen to completely ignore the the smell of weed.

Gorgeous family.

My worst laundry nightmare just happened - opening the lid on the washing machine, filled with whites, to find a bright red batman t-shirt staring back at me like an evil eye.


A secret message: Omthay, eckchay ouryay maileyay essagesmay.

August 17, 1955

Elizabeth Cecilia Glover was born.

She was beautiful, vivacious, smart and funny - gifts she passed on to her four wonderful children.

Liz enjoyed life and held the importance of family higher and closer to her heart than anyone I know and I have learned a great deal from my big sister.


Happy Birthday Liz - I miss you.

An honest man is made

As Thomas so eloquently writes:

After 11.5 years.
2 continents.
3 countries.
6 cities.
And countless conversations....
Susan and I have decided to end our room-mate like existence.......


When two people are at one
in their inmost hearts,
they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze.
And when two people understand each other
in their inmost hearts,
their words are sweet and strong,
like the fragrance of orchids.

Much happiness and love to Thomas and Susan tomorrow.

Happy Birthday Mom!



78 years young today.

Mom doesn't read my chocolate-free blog but I have already called and will propose that we all raise a glass of wine and voice a toast to a fabulous and health-complicated-free year.

Here's to you Mom!

Save me from the children. Save me from cursed Pokemon speak.

I am sitting here, still on vacation, pondering of the 2 vacation scenarios presented to me, which really would have been worse: going to Grand Falls, NB, spending time in Paul's mother's kitchen drinking from a box of wine while she rambles on about all the injustices she has experienced in her life, WHICH AMOUNTS TO A LOT, and the cancer that she has been anticipating for the past 18 years to affect her - and she's pretty certain it's just around the corner now; or sitting here in MY kitchen for nearly the entire 2 weeks drinking from a bottle of wine, mumbling incoherently about all the injustices that have taken place in my life, especially during our so-called vacation/family time, WHICH ALSO AMOUNTS TO A LOT. And in both situations being the sole parent taking care of the kids.

But while still thinking clearly, I would admit that the wine is better here...

Our family vacation has turned out to be a bit of a bust since Paul seems to have an ongoing vendetta with the tree stump in the back of our property. He's back out there as I type for another round with a chainsaw. It's become personal.

To try to make amends for the disappointing family vacation, I took the boys to Centre Island yesterday where we went on rides and then spent the last couple of hours in the splash pool. The kids had a fantastic time and Jakob bravely went on all the rides - which meant I got to go on all the rides!

I also took the kids to see Ratatouille, which I loved and Satchel loved but Jakob spent most of the time complaining of boredom between mouthfuls of popcorn. I came out of the movie promising myself to take cooking lessons but if nothing else the movie inspires an immense love and appreciation for food...and Paris.

Of course where did I eat last night after the Centreville experience? Pauper's Pub where I enjoyed a wonderful Brazilian salad and Voodoo chicken (delicious and exactly what I wanted but you do leave feeling like you have eaten a brick) and a couple of pints. Also explains why I passed out at 8pm.

Jakob has a friend over and just ran by with underwear on his head.

WE ARE ON VACATION!

And to start our vacation we spent a long weekend in the London area.

First driving in Saturday morning to go to Dave's son Nicholas's birthday party. Then to St. Thomas for dinner with Bill and him treating us to the Simpson's movie. (Bearable only because it was Satchel's #1 on his vacation wish list).

Back to Dave's place to spend the night and then off to the fire station where he works for a tour - view Dave looking quite handsome dressed in his official tour guide/firefighter duds.



Sunday we headed off to visit Kathy and Geoff, two of our favourite friends who live in Crediton where we had a fabulous time and met this little guy:



Who spent all his time posing for photos, happily taking a break from his life with the carney's.

We ate so well (thank you Kathy for always spoiling us!) and drank and laughed harder than I have in a long time and hung out at the beach...



We had an absolutely amazing weekend.

Back from the vet - which went much better than I had hoped for as Arthur's wounds still looked superficial and he is not in any distress. So the total amount is:

1 minute examination: $41.00
Amoxicillin x 10 tablets: $18.40

Plus taxes and a bag of dry food that suddenly went up in price by 25% for a total of $85.15.

I think it's time to reconsider the catfood.

I feel like screaming!

Arthur was attacked AGAIN by another cat - within 20 minutes of going outside by a tabby with white spots around its face.

He's back to the vet tomorrow morning.

He is too old for this!